My Bebop Love Tune
by Lunatic with a Hero Complex
Summary: To Spike, life is only lived because he doesn't have it in him to quit. He doesn't share emotions, but he can't hide in his sleep. One night Faye hears and its all fight from there
1. Default Chapter

My Bebop Love Tune  
  
Chapter One By: Captain Scarlet Penguin keeper  
  
Her eyes were foggy with freshly disturbed sleep. Her room wasn't in focus, but it didn't need to be for her to find her way around it. She wasn't sure what had woken her up, but now that she was up, she realized she had to pee.  
  
The Bebop wasn't a hard ship to navigate, even half asleep. As she passed Spike's room on her way to the bathroom, she heard what had made her wake up. Faye paused in front of Spike's door. A low moaning was coming from behind it. Thinking it might be trouble, the lunkhead, after all was not famous for his people skills, she opened the door and went in.  
  
Spike wasn't being assaulted, not physically at least. He slept with jogging pants on, no shirt, and at the moment, his chest was covered with the sheen of sweat. The green hair in a perpetual state of disarray was tangled and matted down. The sheets were tangled around his legs and he seemed to be fighting to free himself.  
  
But that was not what was disturbing. The moaning sound she'd heard was louder with the door open. The cowboy wasn't a cowboy right now. The annoyingly handsome features were distorted in sadness, or pain, or anger, an indefinable emotion.  
  
In his sleep, he couldn't hide behind a cigarette; it was near impossible to smoke in your sleep. They fought on the ship; it was like a joke, their hostility. Sure they withheld a certain dislike for each other, but it was camaraderie, not true dislike. They got each other out of "situations".  
  
To Faye it seemed he was always talking, making sarcastic remarks, and being generally a bastard. It just now occurred to her, that though he talked very much, he actually said, very little.  
  
Faye had fallen into a trance standing there, watching him struggle in his sleep and thinking about him when he was awake. The light from the hall came and fell on his features, throwing into inescapable clarity the foreign look of helplessness on them. She could deal with sarcastic Spike, relatively happy Spike, angry Spike, even injured Spike, but helpless Spike was a stranger, a reclusive cousin that hated the light of day, and so hid behind the others, living off of their emotional leftovers.  
  
Without knowing why, she went forward, not exactly the angel of mercy in her long t-shirt and headband, but not really caring. It wasn't like she was now desperately in love with the sardonic man, but she wanted to see if the face was actually real, in her sensible mind, she knew the chances were slim that it was a mask or something, but, she had to check.  
  
Without his eyes he looked almost normal, like he wasn't constantly in danger or causing others danger. She reached out her hand and touched his cheek; her long nails making a soft rasping noise on the stubble on his cheek.  
  
At her touch, the strange look was replaced by a tense look, one that she knew well, he was defensive now, as the thought passed her brain and she drew back her hand quickly, the eyes, opened, bringing back his personality with their sight.  
  
The one eye she could see wasn't foggy, it was clear and angry, the look of someone who did not like to be disturbed without foreknowledge. She just stared for a minute; he was so different when awake, so closed off. When he saw whom it was his eyebrows crinkled in annoyance, "Can I help you with something?"  
  
Faye snapped out of it, she had to think quickly, the real answer would just not do, not for our dear shrew, "Came to see if you had my book in your room, you'd be the one to take it without asking."  
  
Spike looked over at his clock and turned to her with a look of incredulity on his face, "At 3:15 in the morning Faye?" Faye winced internally but didn't show it, damn clocks, "I couldn't sleep, anyway it's not here, so I'm leaving this hell hole." "Fine, next time, just let it wait until morning." "Not if it makes you unhappy cowboy."  
  
"Bitch"

"Lunkhead"

* * *

As his door closed leaving him in utter darkness, Spike's eyelids didn't follow their example. The interruption in his sleep had almost been welcome. When his "rest" was broken, he'd been in the middle of an unhappy situation.  
  
Spike hoped to God that it hadn't shown on his face. If the shrew saw him like that, he'd never hear the end of it. Speaking of which, what had Faye been doing in his room.  
  
He didn't buy the shit about looking for her book. Usually he would've believed it, if it would piss Spike off, he had every faith that Faye would do it. But he'd woken up because somebody had touched him.  
  
He hadn't slept with anyone since Julia. He wasn't the kind for absent sex, and he hadn't been involved with anyone since that day he'd woken and found her gone.  
  
He'd felt fingertips on his cheek. And why the hell had she been leaning over him like that. Spike's mind drifted off of the subject and he unclenched his fingers from around the gun under his pillow.  
  
Spike wouldn't let it bother him, she'd probably been planning some sick joke or something, knowing Faye he didn't put it passed her. So comforted, the lids closed over the eyes that didn't quite match and he went back to sleep.

* * *

Faye had lost all real desire to urinate quite a while ago, but she continued on to the bathroom anyway. Bodily functions usually didn't wait for the body's desires.  
  
She flushed the toilet and went into the main room. She sunk into the yellow couch. The yellow couch that so often held a certain lanky cowboy that was either sleeping or injured. It was hard to tell which case occurred more often.  
  
Faye had two problems; the first was her question as to what was in Spike's dreams. The second was, why did she care?  
  
Sure, he was handsome, and yes, despite their... funny relationship, she had lusted after him quite a few times. It didn't really mean anything. It was a simple principle.  
  
After you met Spike, like him or not, you lusted after him. He was tall, lean, and muscular. His features were angular, and sharp with dark eyes that spanned for miles but told nothing. And when he moved, to sit or relax, but especially when he fought, it was fluid, like anything he did, he did as an extension of his psyche. You couldn't help but imagine him as a lover; pleasing thoughts should not be repressed.  
  
But just because he was a nice piece of man flesh, did not change her dislike for certain aspects of his personality. Examples being his constant use of the word shrew in her general direction, his usual readiness with smart-ass comments that didn't help the situation, and his blatant disregard for public property.  
  
Thinking of blatant disregard brought up more questions she didn't think she'd ever ask of herself. His constant near-fatal injury. She was sure it wasn't his skill that was lacking, the bastard, though annoying, was deadly.  
  
Personally, she thought it was his caution that was deficient. Spike always took the risk that was closest to death. Faye didn't quite understand why, but she knew it wasn't bright.  
  
Faye gave up trying to reason out Spike Speigal and the reasons why she was reasoning him out. She got off the yellow couch and went to her room, got in the bed and drifted into a deep sleep, ironically dreamless. 


	2. Life's better when you're clean

My Bebop Love Tune  
  
Chapter Two  
  
By: Captain Scarlet Penguin Keeper  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Cowboy Bebop, or Spike Spiegel, for that matter, though that is a shame, he would be such fun to have around.  
  
Spike swung his long legs around to the floor beside his bed and ran his hands through his hair, fingers catching on unruly tangles that he would tackle after his shower.  
  
He looked back at his bed, not very comfortable at all, but all he had, and certainly better than some of the places he'd slept in all of his years.  
  
Faye opened her eyes; they were sticky with too little sleep. The smooth steel ceiling of her room greeted her gaze, right cheery.  
  
Maybe she'd take a shower, if she hurried she could probably get to it before Spike did, with that thought, she hurried out of her bed.  
  
Spike opened his door and walked down the hall, towards the bathroom. He heard a door open behind him and rested comfortably in the thought that he would get to the shower first. Nevertheless he picked up his pace marginally.  
  
Faye got out of her door and turned towards the bathroom, she saw with anger that Spike was already almost there. She was fixing to run when she saw that in preparation for the shower, he'd taken off the pajama pants and was only clad in a pair of boxers, navy blue.  
  
She was momentarily struck dumb by the sight, and she stopped in her tracks. The muscles of his back moved lazily as he walked, he wasn't tense right now, but you could tell they were there. The muscular thighs came out of the shorts, tan and remarkably smooth. Scars laced most of his flesh. Identifiable entry and exit bullet wounds all around his back raised silver patches that were strangely in place on his body.  
  
One cluster interested her in particular, near the small of the back, like the fate of God; they were closely bunched together, but every one of them conveniently missing the spinal cord. It almost seemed sometimes as though Spike wanted to die. So maybe this once in a purple moon occurrence of aim, was proof that Spike had done the gods some awful grievous wrong, and this was their way of spiting him.  
  
The sharp bite of lust touched her lower belly. Faye felt persuaded to attack the cowboy walking rather speedily towards the bathroom, throw him down in the hall and get to know every scar on that damn body.  
  
Right before she touched the hem of his boxers, reality gave her a cruel slap in the face, simultaneously telling her that this was Spike, the annoying lunkhead and that the lunkhead was going to get to the shower before her.  
  
Faye's head came back into play quickly and she jogged down the hall, he was almost there.  
  
Spike's mood took a turn for the better, he was going to get the first shower, and he would feel slightly better after he washed the previous night's dreams off. He turned to enter the bathroom and a purple and white blur sped passed him in the door.  
  
A moment later, he found the door closed in front of him, with the sound of running water coming from behind it. Honestly, he should have run.  
  
Jet listened to the sound of the slamming door and the running water. This race would one day get old, but hearing the anguished cry of the day's loser was always pleasant.  
  
After said cry was let loose, Jet grinned, sounded like Spike had lost today. 'Bout time too, he'd been on a winning streak for a week and a half.  
  
Noting that the loser always opted for breakfast before washing, Jet left the bonsai room and headed for the kitchen, the coffee was already made, he just had to configure something for breakfast; it was probably going to be ramen, as usual.  
  
Just as he pulled the box out of the cabinet, the fore-predicted sound of footsteps came from down the hall.  
  
His green haired partner came in the kitchen, found a mug and poured himself some coffee. He seemed absent, marking Spike usually wasn't a chatterbox, but he didn't seem particularly interested in participating in life right now.  
  
"Want some breakfast, Spike?"  
  
Spike seemed to snap out of his thoughts and come back to the present,  
  
"Sure, what're we having?"  
  
Jet lifted a sardonic eyebrow, "Ramen, what else do we have."  
  
"Of course, I should have guessed, alright then."  
  
Jet chose to ignore the sarcasm and continued on preparing the artificial flavored noodles. Better to have imitation, than nothing at all, he supposed.  
  
Spike had just sat down at the table when out of nowhere, a whirlwind attacked, "Gooooooooooood morning Spike person!!!!"  
  
Spike took another sip of his coffee, relatively unalarmed, "Good morning Ed."  
  
Ed was walking around on all fours on the kitchen floor, sniffing an imaginary trail, "Ed has sniffed out bounty, great biiiiiig bounty!!!!"  
  
Spike looked up with the first real sign of interest so far, "Big bounty, how big?"  
  
Ed's nose lifted from the floor, "50,000,000 woolongs, yes, wanted dead or alive."  
  
Jet looked down at the packets in his hand, "fifty million woolongs, we could have real meat for weeks."  
  
Spikes eyes gleamed with the thought of action, action and real food, the only things that really seemed to get him excited, "What's the bounty's name Ed?"  
  
"Bounty is called Joseph Rorke, Spike-Person, and he's on Ganymede, yep," she said while walking back to the living room and her tomato on her hands.  
  
Spike stood up carrying his coffee and followed her into the main room. He sat down on the worn yellow couch and put his legs up on the coffee table, ironically, he didn't put his coffee there, that, he rested on his leg. He leaned his head back and asked, "What did this guy do that was worth so much to the ISSP?"  
  
"Ed is not sure, there wasn't a description. Ed looked deeper, but all she found were things about a TIGER and how Rorke-Person was a key operator in running it. How do you run a tiger Spike-Person? Ed thought they ran themselves."  
  
Spike didn't answer, his head had snapped up from the couch when she'd mentioned TIGER and now he was miles away on a business building on Mars.  
  
Faye chose that moment to come out of the bathroom, dressed in her barely-there suit with wet hair. She walked into the main room and threw her towel at the back of Spike's head, "shower's yours lunkhead."  
  
When he didn't respond, she en route to the kitchen, "Spike?" He spoke, but not to her.  
  
"Ed, when you read about this tiger, was it in all capital letters?"  
  
"How did you guess?"  
  
Spike put his coffee on the table very slowly, then he leaned his head forward into his hands, "No, oh God, not now, no."  
  
Faye was getting worried, and she was raring up for an interrogation, when he stood up speedily and ran to his room. A few minutes later he emerged in his suit and he walked towards the dock, "I have to go, I'll be back."  
  
Faye watched him leave, unpleasant memories of a night not too long ago that had ended with several gunshots and Spike leaving the Bebop in a very similar manner.  
  
She went into the kitchen, where Jet had gone back to cooking after watching the exchange, "What was that all about?"  
  
He didn't turn from the pot of water, "I don't know. I know what you're thinking, but he said he'd be back and that's a lot better promise than we got last time."  
  
Faye sat down at the table with the cup of coffee she'd just poured, "I know, can't help but wonder though."  
  
"Oh, by the way," Jet said, ladling the ramen into two bowls, "Ed found a bounty worth fifty million woolongs."  
  
Faye spit a spray of coffee back into her cup, "Fifty million?"  
  
"Yeah, that's what Ed and Spike were talking about, name's Joseph Rorke, can't find out what he did to piss 'em off though, all Ed could find was that he was a main operator for TIGER, whatever that is."  
  
Jet set (he he, lets fly) down the bowls in front of them, "Don't worry about him, eat your breakfast, and go on with life."  
  
Faye brought a few spoonfuls of the long noodles to her mouth, then she let the spoon rest in the bowl, with her hand still attached. A minute of silence was born and killed and when it was put to rest, she raised her eyes to look at Jet, "He dreams about when they took him, you know."  
  
Jet's head pulled back from the bowl, and he considered her, "I suppose I guessed he would, he's strong, but he's not impervious."  
  
"It wakes me up, I don't think he knows I know, he can't keep it silent forever, I think its killing him."  
  
"Spike's not the kind to share, it's just not what he does, if he doesn't talk about it, than he's dealing with it silently."  
  
"If he doesn't talk about what they did to him, eventually, it'll eat him alive."  
  
"Maybe that's what he's waiting for. He never did tell us if he found out the answer."  
  
Faye's eyebrows turned down in confusion, "The answer to what?"  
  
Jet resumed eating, "Whether he was dead or alive."  
  
Faye continued as well and they sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes until Jet got up and put his bowl in the sink and left the kitchen.  
  
Faye was left alone. Her thoughts came up from the back of her mind, brutal gang-bangers intent on cornering and battering their defenseless prey. A fight with fists, she could handle, but from your thoughts there is not one place where you can hide, its humanity's unfixable plight.  
  
They'd heard about what had happened that night on Mars from the news. It was everywhere on the local stations, "One man whirl of death destroys syndicate building, no sign of a body, but several witnesses swear, he didn't come out."  
  
Jet had nodded once at the t.v. as if respecting its decision, and gotten up and gone to his bonsai room.  
  
Faye hadn't been so understanding, she'd stared in shock at the television as if waiting for the reporter to stop and look up, cackling wildly, and shout, "Gotcha!"  
  
It hadn't happened.  
  
Spike returned three months later, in sorry condition; bruises of many colors replacing his skin, three broken ribs, two internal injuries, and a partridge in a pear tree. He'd stumbled from the hangar like a mummy, a wraith without a mind or soul, just a single purpose.  
  
What was left of his blue suit wasn't much to speak of, a few tatters that he probably hadn't thrown away because some remnant of his mind remembered human modesty.  
  
The eyes that had assured Faye that he knew he was going out to die that night were glazed over with pain. The body of her former comrade ran on a cousin to autopilot, towards the yellow couch, where Ed was sitting with Ein.  
  
The red head jumped off the furniture and watched Spike walk towards it. When he reached it, he fell on it, a move that had gone brutally fast for the slow speed at which he'd been moving.  
  
Faye hadn't moved until that moment, but when he hit the yellow, she had jumped from her seat and gone to him, kneeling next to the couch. He'd looked at her, somewhere in his good eye she saw recognition. Then the lid had come down and he was lost from her, into a land where she couldn't follow.  
  
All she could do now, was help Jet heal him, and hope he'd have more to say later.  
  
Faye picked up her bowl, her appetite somewhat dulled by the type of food, and subject of thought, and she put it in the sink next to Jet's.  
  
A rare moment of whimsy came upon her and she turned on the water, preparing to do the dishes. She held her hand under the water, waiting for it to heat up, while she thought about things. It had been under there for 6 minutes before she realized that she'd used all of the hot water for her shower.  
  
The faucet handle squeaked rustily as she turned it off and she turned from the sink with a sound of disgust. Couldn't even be nice without interruption lately. Life, right now anyway, was not going at all as desired.  
  
Maybe her karma would've been better if she'd let Spike have the shower. 


	3. Going to Bed Dirty

Hello Ladies and gentlemen, yes I am updating now, but first it's time to thank the wonderful reviewers of my little brainchild.  
  
**Sydney Wild**: Hey Aussie. Yeah Faye's a residual character, thanks for the compliments, its nice of you to read it even when you've never watched it, see ya soon. Oh, and Aussie, have a spam flavored internet cookie.  
  
**Kendra Luehr**: Just watch and see, thanks for the nice words. And thank you, I worry a lot about the quality of this story.  
  
**Ni9htdream12**: Thanks, here it is.  
  
**Trigger**: Thanks, I feel loved.  
  
**Russetwolf713**: Thank you, you are so nice. I'm glad that mine passed the test. (breaks into tears) You like me, you really like me!  
  
**Disclaimer**: NO I do not own Cowboy Bebop, not rich enough to buy them yet. Maybe if I started a petition, the characters could be released to the public. (wanders off muttering to herself)  
  
My Bebop Love Tune  
  
Chapter Three  
  
By: Captain Scarlet Penguin Keeper  
  
A loud moaning resonated through the empty store, "I haven't heard anything, I swear! They don't tell me nothin' about operations like TIGER, please believe me!"  
  
A grin formed on Spikes mouth, but it didn't reach his eye, "Now how am I supposed to believe that when I didn't say a single thing about TIGER?"  
  
With a quick flick, Spike snapped his wrist back, resulting in a loud crack as it broke. The man's wails were loud and unbearable, so Spike grabbed his chin, turned his head and clamped a hand over his mouth, "So Mikanu, tell me, now that we've progressed to understanding what I'm asking you about, why are they bringing TIGER back?"  
  
He removed his hand, wiping it off on his pant leg. For a moment the only answer he got was Mikanu's screams and strangled sobs. To speed things along, Spike grabbed the other wrist pointedly and gripped it tightly, "Calm down or I'll be forced to prove my point further."  
  
The man's sobs lessened just enough so that he could speak, "Please, if I tell you anything, they'll kill me, and they can be so cruel."  
  
Spike sighed disappointedly, but his eye was steely and cold, like the gunslingers of old that he was named for. He snapped back the remaining wrist and talked over the resulting cries, "Now, if you please, tell me why they are even discussing TIGER."  
  
The man turned his wails down to sniffling and he looked at Spike with tears of pain in his eyes. He held his boneless flapping wrists to his chest, as though fearing Spike would attack them again, "They didn't tell me directly, and I don't know what TIGER does exactly, but I was cleaning outside of the meeting room and all I heard was, "With the gate guard decision coming up, TIGER sounds like our best course of action." That's all I heard, I swear, please man don't hurt me."  
  
Without really listening, Spike turned to go, "Don't worry, I won't." He stopped, halfway to the door, and turned, "After this, I _can't_ hurt you anymore."  
  
He pulled out his Jericho, took quick aim, and pulled the trigger. Mikanu jerked backwards as the bullet hit him in the forehead, almost like a dance move, and he fell behind the counter and out of Spike's vision.  
  
Spike turned and went out the door, "Thanks."

* * *

His Swordfish growled as it rose out of the Martian atmosphere, shaking under the pressure. He'd had to kill Mikanu, he told himself, he couldn't have him running to the syndicate, and he would've too, syndicate cruelty or not.  
  
He reached across the seats to a picture in the console, ignoring the bloodstains on his baby's upholstery. The picture was old, at least seven years, and it was worn from much use.  
  
Two men stood on either side of a woman. The man on the right had grey hair and looked unused to smiling. The man on the left had green hair and he was grinning, almost foolishly. The woman had blonde hair and was simply angelic.  
  
Each of the men had an arm around her and she seemed happy.  
  
Spike sighed and put the picture in his display. Why would they bring back TIGER now? All of the operatives trained for it were now out of commission. Spike steered the Swordfish towards the Bebop.  
  
The Dragons would not interfere with this life again. He'd worked too hard to get back to the Bebop; they were not going to destroy the thing he'd just learned to appreciate. They could have him, but they would not touch Faye.  
  
What he meant to think was they wouldn't touch _Jet, Ed, and_ Faye, but it hadn't come out that way, figuratively speaking. What was his feeling towards Faye? He wouldn't call it dislike. Nor would he really call it friendship. He supposed you would call it a mutual understanding.

* * *

He remembered the day he came back through a pain-hazed fog. Tracking the Bebop from his ship, guiding the Swordfish into the hangar, dragging his half-dead carcass into the living room.  
  
His mind was shutting down, but his body headed for the yellow couch, the only place that he could be healed.  
  
When he'd made it, before he finally let his mind rest, he saw an angel, an angel with purple hair and green eyes. Wait a minute that was Faye. Then he'd blacked out.  
  
Sleeping for three days, when he'd woken up, he'd been in his old room, bandaged and still exhausted beyond all memories. Besides exhaustion though, he'd been hungry.  
  
Bending parts of himself that should not be bent yet, he got out of the bed and limped like a regenerated corpse towards the door.  
  
Reaching his hand towards the button to open his door, Spike felt the first tingle of apprehension. What if they didn't want him here?  
  
While the knives were airing out his veins, he'd concentrated on getting back to the Bebop. He still wished the bastards had let him die, but if he couldn't have death he at lest wanted to get back to a life that was more bearable.  
  
Sure, they had bandaged him up, but that could just be common kindness. They could turn him out if they wanted to; they had every right. With a sigh, he gimped into the hall, if they did, he'd make due like he always did.  
  
He heard the sound of voices from down the hall as he walked towards the kitchen and main room. They grew louder as he walked and he began to hear fragments of conversation. "I'm going to go bonkers if he doesn't wake up soon and tell us what happened." "Faye, who's to say that he even tells us what happened when he wakes up?"  
  
So they wouldn't think he was eavesdropping, he'd made sure to make a lot of noise on his trek down the hall. The conversation stopped abruptly and when he came in they were seated around the table, sipping coffee silently.

* * *

Spike saw the Bebop coming closer and slowed down to prepare to enter the hangar.  
  
The door closed behind the Swordfish and he opened the canopy and hopped out, stuffing the picture in his pocket as he went. He still had a slight limp. He supposed he always would, but it still kicked all right and he was surviving quite well.  
  
The living room looked similar to the day he came back, everyone sitting around and watching the t.v.  
  
Spike didn't pause when he came in and turned towards the hall. He didn't feel like explaining, or talking, or lying. For that matter, he didn't feel like breathing.  
  
He'd almost made it to the safety of his door when a hand stopped him on his shoulder. He turned around to be met with large green eyes.

* * *

He came in looking like he'd been thrown a hard left hook, without the bruise to show for it. She didn't know what news he'd gotten, but obviously, it wasn't good. She thought that maybe he'd stop and acknowledge them, but he'd just kept going, not even breaking his stride.  
  
Faye Valentine, or what she knew of herself, wasn't one to let things drop like that, she stood up, ignoring the looks from Jet and followed him down the hall.  
  
Before he could escape into his room, she stopped him. He turned around and once again she was struck dumb by his eyes. The one just staying to adjust with the light and the other angry, angry and confused.  
  
He'd never used to affect her this way. She could talk to him until the day ended, but since he'd come back, halfway to hell and still falling, she'd taken to silent fits of wonder in his presence.  
  
"Can I help you Faye?"  
  
As usual, his voice jarred her out of her reverie, only this time; her subject wasn't ridicule, "Spike, what happened to you there, when they had you... all that time."  
  
Spike looked at her as though she'd suggested he tell Jet he was the antichrist, and then he lost all expression, "All I am willing to tell you, Faye, is that in that place, I learned to respect Hell. That's all you need to know, after that, it doesn't matter."  
  
She cocked her hip to the side and crossed her arms, exasperated, "Fine, if you won't tell me that, then at least tell me where you went today."  
  
Spike arched an infuriating eyebrow and looked at her appraisingly, "Fine," he said with venom, "today, I questioned a friend, learned a few things, and I ended a long standing relationship. Satisfied?"  
  
Faye huffed, "No, but I suppose that's all I'm gonna get today isn't it?"  
  
He, yes he, the immortal he, with a soul encased in steel, turned around without answering, and went into his room, closing the door behind him with a loud swish of finality.  
  
She was about to go back to the living room when she noticed something on the floor. She bent down to pick it up and saw that it was a picture. A picture with three people in it. Two of them she recognized, and the third was obvious.  
  
A smiling Vicious, a happier Spike, and Julia squashed giddily between them. Spike must have dropped it before he went in.  
  
Changing directions she went to her room and sat in the only chair next to the desk.  
  
Later, she heard Spike searching in his room. She considered bringing the picture back to him, but she supposed it would just create tension.  
  
Faye lay in her bed long after she'd heard Jet go down. She was waiting for something. Not that she wanted it to happen, but she was checking.  
  
At about 2:15, she heard it, the low moaning from the night before. This time, she was going to be more careful. It just wouldn't due for him to wake up to her being there a second time. That would be near impossible to explain.  
  
Again she crept down the hall, more quietly this time. Going in his door again, she left it open and used the little light she had been given for her observation. Tonight, she wasn't looking at his face, though it drew her.  
  
Her eyes wandered over the contents of his room. Nothing severely personal, just some books, and papers. Relics of captured bounties, a few littered miscellany such as food wrappers and pens.  
  
While gazing about the wonderland that was Spike's domain, she glimpsed something truly fascinating.  
  
A sword. Not just a sword, a beautiful sword. It was a foot and a half long with a blade that shown brightly. The handle was red stone shot through with black veins, the end was gold capped. It was a thing of beauty, and she couldn't help but wonder where he'd gotten it.  
  
Now for the thing she'd come to do. She wouldn't let him know it was her, but she couldn't very well let him carry on like that, it would kill him.  
  
So, turning to go back out the door. She stopped and turned around. Spike hadn't tossed or moaned once while she'd been in there. Staring at him hard, she tried to determine if he was really sleeping.  
  
After a full minute of staring, she nearly jumped out of her skin when his voice startled her, "Yes Faye, I know you're here, now why?"  
  
His eyes opened and he stared at her curiously. He propped himself up on his elbows and he looked at her.  
  
For a minute she considered lying to him, but she decided she didn't have the mental strength right now, "I heard you having a nightmare and I decided to check if you were o.k."  
  
He stood up and got out of bed. Walking towards her, she winced at the limp that besotted his stride.  
  
When he was directly in front of her, she could only stare into his face, eyes wide and wondering. He looked at her, his eye boring into her, "I haven't been o.k. for a while Faye."  
  
He leaned in towards her face and as she watched the brown eyes getting closer, she felt her neck involuntarily lean forward to meet him. Their lips met and she tasted tears in the kiss.  
  
It lasted for an eternity and when she pulled apart she saw him staring at her strangely, not exactly in a bad way, but like he'd never really seen her before.  
  
The tears she'd tasted rolled down his cheeks where the stubble was growing longer, only to be lost among the bristles. Her thumb came up to wipe one of them away, "Oh Spike."  
  
He grabbed her hand and held it, "I don't need sympathy, Faye."  
  
Faye took her hand back from him, "Maybe you don't really need sympathy, but please let me at least understand what you would need sympathy for."  
  
Spike considered her for a moment, then grabbed her hand again, tugging it southwards, "You want to know why you should feel sorry for me, do you?"  
  
He seemed almost spiteful now, proving a point to her. He dragged her hand along his chest, stopping on a raised ridge of skin, "This, this is the early period, when they were still feeling lenient, they only used knives, I could take that." He dragged her hand further down to right below his pectorals, above the top ridge of the first of his abs muscles.  
  
There was a mass of burnt flesh there the size of her hand, "Here, here is where they got inventive, they thought that acid would work better, lasts longer, stings longer. It was tough but I kept quiet."  
  
He was spitting now, feral, angry. The tears fell faster, and he shook as he dragged her hand, but he was still going. She didn't think he would stop until she was in tears.  
  
He brought her to a long scar in his side, in between ribs, "Ahh and this one. This is the only one I think belongs here, the only one I didn't mind having. This is courtesy of Vicious's katana. The strike that should have killed me, but despite my mind's better judgment, I still live."  
  
Her mouth worked soundlessly like a fish and the tears he seemed to have been waiting for fell down her face.  
  
Spike seemed to soften somewhat, but he still kept that spiteful look about him, he walked over to his desk, grabbed his cigarettes and walked out of the door, pausing as he passed her, "You pick a part to sympathize with, I'm going out."  
  
And he continued past her, out through the main room and probably onto the dock to smoke a cigarette.  
  
She'd gotten what she wanted, but now, she didn't know if she wanted to know anymore. 


End file.
